The throbbing in my slit and nipples would not abate; my mind felt afire, I wanted her so badly. Thus did I squirm half the night, yet I do not know why I even pretended to try to sleep, as Mjoll knew about me. Even so, I was surprised when I felt her rise and push me over, slip inside the double fur I usually shared with Aela. The abrupt contact was exquisite; my heart and other parts leapt, yet I advised, “Mjoll, I… we… cannot…”
She placed a rough hand over my mouth; the other I felt exploring my quivering body. “Shhh. I know. Let me… heal you.”
I dared not move – I recalled too well what I had done to Elda – and thus I lay at her mercy whilst she reconnoitred; the hand on my mouth moved, fingers traced random patterns across my face, ears, neck; joined the other travelling up and down, delving here and there. Tiny kisses pecked at shoulder, neck, cheek, ear. “Shhh…” she kept murmuring.
Gasping, I tensed as she squeezed my breasts, pinched and thumbed my nipples, probed around my sheath, played with the wispy covering; drew a finger along the bottom of my slit, stroked back and forth; dipped inside with one, then another, thumb flicking my Sword of Dibella. I started, moaned, almost too enraptured to note a furry, moist heat against my leg as she began to rub her sex against me. Perhaps she would get what she needed without my direct participation. I relaxed, enjoyed. The Lioness brought me to climax more than once ere plunging her entire fist within my palpitating cunt and thrusting, whilst tongue flicked rapidly and she seized swollen nipples betwixt lip and teeth, casting me into some kind of swoon.
The next thing I knew it was dawn and I heard her at the fire outside, cooking or whatever. I could not quite believe what had happened; was it only a dream? I thought not, as I recalled ‘waking’ during the night, the big, dusky Nord wrapped around me, shaking with sobs – and my feeble attempts to soothe her.
XVII The Visitor
The Lioness and I went on to Fort Dawnguard. There, Isran, in a strange pique, immediately bade us follow him; I had a ‘visitor’ demanding to see me. Mjoll begged leave to explore the huge fortress, adding how it was likely a private matter anyway.
Of course it was Serana. Upon first glimpse of the haughty vampiress – unchanged from when we parted, still wearing the same old-fashioned yet flattering leathers – my heart leapt inside my orcish armour, threatened to burst through the under-padding and wrought orichalcum breastplate. Then again, perhaps it was my nipples and Sword of Dibella; I tried to ignore them all.
After an intense conversation during which Isran threatened to kill Serana on the spot, going so far as to reach for his specialised warhammer, we took her at her word that she wanted to stop her father from finding and using an Elder Scroll that would supposedly render all vampires unaffected by sunlight.
“Well, then?” Those red-orange eyes offered a quizzical look; I saw eagerness, as well as a challenge.
Isran had left us in an alcove, which, lit by a tall, floor-standing candelabrum, appeared to have once been an ancient torture chamber, judging by the scattering of grim instruments and old, dried blood on the stone walls and floor. Cobwebs laced every corner, empty bottles and debris lay scattered; a few hay bales and a loose pile of dirty straw filled the rest of the space near us (for what, I wondered; kept they horses in the castle?). The fustiness of ages stuffed my nostrils.
“How did you know I would be here?” I was just making conversation.
“My… family hast spies.”
I had no more to say, so I attacked her.
She was out of her leathers much quicker than on the first occasion, notwithstanding her assistance this time, on her back in the straw a half-moment later, I on my knees between her legs. I slurped at her slick crevice like a puppy lapping milk, sucked her Sword of Dibella as though it were a little cock. This time she immediately gasped her pleasure – and, doubtless, not a little discomfort, as the hay was prickly. I had not the fiery potion to warm her, but I did my best without. I lifted her hips clear of the dirty floor and loose hay, pulling her cool slit into my mouth as I plunged with my tongue as deeply as I could. She cried out, sounding almost in pain – but I could not hurt her, could I? She was undead – not human, at least – and my equal in strength and boundless energy. All the while, I struggled out of my own armour; naked, I gasped, wincing at the cold stone, painful beneath my knees, the chill of the ancient castle. I pulled us farther into the hay pile; better prickly than cold and trying to fuck on a hard surface. Not that Serana noticed the cold, I suppose.
Spinning the vampiress onto her knees, her face now pressed into the straw, I resumed my assault on her hairless cunt. Her cries muffled, I licked and sucked, thrust two and three fingers within her slippery cleft; flicked rapidly with a curled finger inside, the way she had shown me. Serana convulsed; a blood-curdling shriek wracked the mostly empty hallways, raising the fine hairs all over my body. As she collapsed like a broken dummy I flipped her again, sat on her face. I had to writhe and twist urgently before she seemed to notice. Then I was in trouble.
Serana came to life, as it were; preternaturally long tongue snaked into me, drew a long slurp, darted to my erect nubbin; her ministrations and my ardour brought me almost instant release. Yet the undead woman was not about to let me get off that easily. Holding my hips in an unnaturally strong grip, she attempted to force her entire face into my throbbing hole; I found myself bemused, wondering how she could breathe whilst immediately recalling that she did not. Tongue, lips, teeth prodded and pinched, licked and sucked. I groaned, cried out my gratification. I then got a true sampling of her strength as she picked me up bodily, tossed me onto my back into the straw – by all the gods it was uncomfortable! – dived atop me, now assaulting my aching breasts and hardened nipples.
I shrieked as she shoved something into my cunt; she had grabbed a bottle and thrust the cold neck into me, jammed it in and out; withdrew it occasionally to suck and lick my juices off it. At least it was soon warm. I watched it, glossy brown with my juices in the candlelight, disappear betwixt crimson lips; shivered at the sight and sound of sharp fangs scraping its length; observed, mesmerised, as it went back inside me. My body arched as I threw my head back, almost burying it in the filthy straw. “AAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH!”
“Gods below!” someone bellowed from the corridor. Whoever it was disappeared before I could turn to see. It sounded like Isran, probably thinking I was being killed by the vampiress. Perhaps he was not far off…
It betided that, had we moved but a few paces down the hallway, a room lay furnished with a large bed – that it happened to be Isran’s was probably the reason he heard us (he and most of the Dawnguard, doubtless). Even so, there were a number of others we could have taken, albeit none private; although we had not been overly concerned with privacy, we could have had a modicum of comfort.
Withal, I had to convince Mjoll that she either needs must stay at the fortress, else tolerate Serana’s presence in our little party whilst we hunted (other) vampires. Firstly, however, I felt I had to find Vilja, and this diversion riled the big Nord warrior more than Serana’s presence. Thus, I was once more in a quandary: Did I pursue Vilja, as I felt I must, and risk Mjoll and Serana leaving me, or did I abandon my blonde companion (and Aela) for the nonce, and continue vampire hunting? I assumed that Serana would not stay at the fortress – even if the residents would have her – and so we three left together. The tension was palpable, and I soon missed Vilja’s inane banter more than I could have imagined. Even so, the choice was taken from me as, emerging from Dayspring Canyon, vampires ambushed us.
A drain spell sucked life from me ere I knew we were under assault, and I suddenly missed Vilja for more than her banter; I seldom noticed her keeping me healed during combat, and thus, under duress, I downed a potion or two. Drawing Volendrung, my artifact warhammer, I smashed a thrall’s shoulder; flesh and bones crunching, he screamed, magic flaring as the enchanted weapon drank his stamina. Another blow to the chest caved in his leather breastplate, gouts of blood erupting from his mouth as he fell in a heap; I pulped his head for good measure, splattering myself with ruined brain and bone matter. Intent on the next one, I leapt over the corpse, not much noting what occurred around me, aside from shouts and other sounds of battle. A blooded vampire in chainmail was no match for me next; staggering it with a smash to its stomach, it doubled over; I messily beheaded it just as a magical lance of ice from Serana pierced it through. I turned to find Mjoll down, another fiend rising from her prostrate form, blood drooling down its chin. Snarling, I charged, swung my massive weapon to and fro as though it were a stick; the nightstalker backed away, stunned as I rained blows upon it. Dark blood sprayed and magic flared again as the hammer obliterated its features, crushing its remaining life force.
It was over. I went to Mjoll. She was conscious, coughing blood – but I could see the punctures in her throat, the trickle of lifeblood. With surprising strength, her hand grasped mine as I began gestures to heal her.
“No.” She coughed, spat more blood. “I am… done. Did… did we kill them?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Goo
I swallowed a lump of ore. “Mjoll, I can… I can heal you.” I actually doubted that, but wanted to try…
“No, you can’t. I’m bitten. And even if you could
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